Outsider writings.
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The Outsider.
A prairie ocean undulates
Giving voice to a breeze,
Upon this picture serene
A waning sun bleeds.
Flushed clouds, unmoved
Absorb a crimson glow,
Above a lonesome silhouette
Twisted in a final throe.
A tree of grim aspect
Sits atop a mound,
Source to a winding path
Worn into the ground.
Hung from an outstretched limb
As if a last offering made,
A man hangs restful
Grisly pendulum to times decay.
Head down as a child scorned
A face pouting at lost shoes,
Such a pointless humiliation
For one with nothing to lose.
Clouds roll in for a brawl
Thunderous punches explode,
As all light is snuffed out
Grass reel as if under ghostly hold.
Lightning strikes like a sudden memory
Illuminating all but the lines on his face,
Deep paths of a journey, misunderstood
By those choosing ignorance to embrace.
A perfect town with perfect ways
He was the oil in their water,
Anathema to righteous minds
With such delicate borders.
Goaded by the frenzied storm
Succumbed like he was to lies,
An unseen hand calls a stop
As then he opens his eyes.
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The Outsider.
The Outsider.